Dark of the Moon
by totheendoftheworldortime79
Summary: A murder investigation introduces Killian Jones to Emma Swan, blonde, beautiful, smart as hell—and a vampire. Mutually mistrustful, they must find a way to work together—not only to solve the murder, but to find out the truth about themselves. They can help one another, but should they? And can they control their feelings? Or will their pasts be too much to overcome?
1. Prologue

**Author's note:** This story is my contribution to the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer. It's been brewing for a long time; this project gave me the push I needed to actually write it. However, this story comes with a LOT of warnings. It tackles some dark themes, violence, non con sexual encounters and other things that could be a squick or a trigger for some people. I'll post more specific warnings ahead of each scene, but I wanted to let you know now, so you have an idea of what you're getting into. If you choose to keep reading, you've been warned. That said, this is ultimately a hopeful story. I hope you enjoy it.

 **Disclaimer:** Nope.

 **Prologue**

 **London, England**

It was late. Far too late to be running, but Killian forced himself. He was determined to prove Liam wrong. Killian loved his brother—once upon a time, he'd worshipped the ground he walked on—but he was getting too old for blind hero worship. They shared a flat, a business, a determination to overcome their orphaned upbringing. But Killian was his own man. He needed Liam to see that.

Running was a small rebellion, but it was enough for now.

The area around Hyde Park was quiet. Killian loved this time of night. The full moon lit his path, a stiff fall breeze whispered over his sweaty skin. He wasn't cold, however. It was during his runs that he felt most alive.

His only company was the music in his ears. His feet pounded the pavement; he wasn't overly concerned with speed. He ran to clear his head, to work out the restless energy that built up as he worked at his drafting table. The brothers worked hard, designing ships for various concerns, both foreign and domestic. It was hard work but rewarding. Killian enjoyed it. He spent so much time at the office that he didn't have much time for a social life. Killian and Liam grew up not far from here, abandoned by their father, with a mother who died too young. They both were obsessed with the boats and ships that sailed up and down the Thames, spending much of their youth exploring the ship yards.

Killian always had an artistic bent; it seemed natural to turn it toward design. Liam was more practical, but together, they worked well. They'd built Jones Deisgns from the ground up, working out of a small office near Whitehall.

The album ended; Killian jogged in place while he dug out his phone. He flipped through his music, trying to decide what to listen to next.

He never saw it coming.

One moment, Killian was upright, the next he was on his back. Pain lanced up his back and arm, something cracked as he tried to break his fall. He screamed in anguish, a large heavy _furry_ beast landing square on his chest. Killian struggled and writhed, the animal's claws digging into his flesh, ripping his damp shirt, scratching his skin. Sharp teeth snapped in his face; he screamed. He must have scared it, because in the next breath, the animal was gone.

Killian gasped for air; his lungs burned, his body felt like it was on fire. Pain like he'd never known pulsed through him, centered on his arm. He moved it experimentally; he nearly passed out from the stabbing ache. Cut, scratched, bruised, his head swam every time he tried to rise. He needed to get up. At the very least, he needed to get to a hospital.

Christ, Liam was going to kill him.

That was his last thought before he passed out.

* * *

The scent of antiseptic greeted him when he woke up. Killian blinked against the too bright light. It took longer than he expected for his eyes to adjust. A lump sat in a nearby chair, dozing. "Liam?"

His older brother stirred, looking exhausted. "Killian?"

"How long have you been here? And how did I get here?"

"Someone found you in the park. Killian, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I could have been mauled by a dog and that's all you have to say?"

Liam leaned on his knees, running his hands through his unruly curls. "Sorry, brother. You scared me, is all."

"It scared me too, brother." It felt a bit like a dream, the animal—had it been a dog? He couldn't remember—heavy on his chest, those jaws snapping toward his throat. Instinctively, he reached for his neck, but he was brought up short by a cast. "Ow."

"Are you in pain? Nurse!"

"Of course, I'm in pain, you bastard." Killian cursed. He was angrier with himself than with Liam. But his brother was a convenient target. He sagged against the bed, hurt and tired.

The nurse came and tended him, upping his morphine drip. Liam tried to question him some more about his encounter with the animal, but it didn't take long for the drugs to take effect. Against his will, Killian fell back into a deep sleep.

The next time he woke, Liam was gone. It was the middle of the day; he probably had to go into the office. Killian didn't blame him; he was more than capable of looking after himself. He ate the passible hospital food; he watched telly. He hoped to be discharged soon, but he'd yet to see a doctor. He wondered why. What he could remember of the attack didn't seem that bad, looking at it from the light of day. He must have frightened some poor dog—albeit it a large one—on his run and it lashed out at him. It was unfortunate, but ultimately no lasting harm had been done. He would live.

He had no way of knowing then, just how long that would be.

 **Three Weeks Later**

"Killian, where are you going?!"

Killian ignored his brother's call. He needed to get out of there. The office was too constricting, too confined. He couldn't _breathe._ He was hot all over; it felt like his skin was too tight. It had been like that for weeks now, ever since he got out of hospital. He'd been to over a dozen doctors; none of them seemed to know what was wrong with him.

He marched down to the gym; it was only a couple of blocks from their office. He changed out of his work clothes and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. People stared as he strode through the gym; he ignored them too. He didn't like being surrounded by so many people, not anymore. But he was trying desperately to hang onto the threads of his life. It felt like everything was slipping away from him.

He hated it.

Killian hopped onto a treadmill, setting a punishing pace. Or what would have been a punishing pace, just a few weeks ago. These days he could run longer and faster than he could have ever dreamed of before. His arm was even healed. No one understood why. Less then two weeks after his accident, his cast came off, the ortho unable to explain why the bones had knitted together so quickly. Not only that, but he'd needed next to no physical therapy. It was baffling. And frightening.

The stench of sweat and deodorant accosted his nose; he had to fight not to gag. For some reason smells affected him more strongly than they ever had before. He could hear better too. The pounding of feet on treadmills, the clang of metal…he could even hear the yoga class going on two corridors away. When he first described his symptoms, the first doctor laughed in his face. The second did too. Everyone ran the same tests; there didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary.

It just made him so _angry._

Frustrated, he hopped off the treadmill and headed for the punching bags. He didn't even bother wrapping up his hands; he didn't need to anymore. He barely felt it as he punched the bag over and over; each punch scared him as it invigorated him. He felt stronger, more alert, just…more. He didn't want to be more. He wanted to be Killian Jones, ship designer, a man who was still finding his way in the world. A man who still sometimes fought with his older brother but still loved him fiercely. A man wanted to find love and a family of his own.

Not an angry bastard who alienated everyone around him.

The next few days were more of the same. He'd come into the office, work for a few hours, then need to leave. He argued with Liam. He got testy in a design meeting with one of their clients and nearly jeopardized the whole deal. Liam was furious. After it was over, Liam scolded him like they were children. It took all of Killian's control not to punch his brother in the face. He spent Thursday and Friday away from the office, working remotely from their flat.

What was happening to him? He was barely sleeping; he couldn't focus for more than an hour or two at time. But he didn't _feel_ tired. He should have been exhausted. He should be sick as a dog. He was keeping a tally of his symptoms; his internal temperature hovered around one hundred degrees almost two full degrees higher than normal. Something like that should put him on his ass, not make him superhuman.

This wasn't a bloody comic book. He wasn't Superman.

He ordered some takeaway; he was starving. Near constant hunger had been his companion these last weeks too. His old healthy diet had gone out the window; he was shoveling in carbs and protein as fast as his body could consume them. Tonight, he ordered steak—nearly raw—potatoes and vegetables with a side pasta salad. It would fill him up for a few hours. His local Chinese place would be expecting his call around midnight, as had become his habit.

Even after he'd eaten, he still felt restless. Like ants clawing under his skin. He couldn't shake it. He couldn't sit still. Frustrated, he changed his clothes; he needed to get outside. Once more the moon was bright in the sky, sometimes obscured by clouds. Killian didn't wait to find a running trail; he started the moment he got to the street. Weaving in and out of pedestrians, he wasn't going anywhere in particular. He was just running.

But as he ran, he couldn't help but notice a strange sense of calm wash over him. It was almost peaceful. Killian pushed himself, harder and faster, waiting for the feeling to go away. It only got stronger. For the first time in weeks, Killian found himself smiling.

He ran for so long; he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. Killian was surprised to find himself back at Hyde Park. He hadn't been there since the accident. Attack? It was difficult to call what happened to him anything but an accident. He'd startled a dog. Probably some poor pooch that had been outside for too long, in need of rescue. Killian liked dogs, though he'd never been in a position to own one. Growing up, they hadn't been able to take on such a responsibility. Perhaps that could all change.

It was late; strictly speaking the park wasn't open. But he wanted to run through it. He needed to know it was just a park and not some boogeyman. He was fine. Killian hopped the chain and plunged inside. He ran, the sounds of the night in his ears. Birds, the breeze in the trees, it all felt soothing. He looked up, the moon peaking out from behind a cloud.

Killian froze. He stared at it, mesmerized. He didn't understand; his heart beat faster. Shaking himself out it, he started to run again. Perhaps he _was_ tired. One more lap around, then he could go home. He started back down the path, his feet on auto pilot. He wasn't thinking, his head was blissfully empty.

Then everything changed.

It started in his spine. A spasm made him come up short; he reached for his back, grunting in pain. It was so intense that he dropped to his knees. It felt like every cell in his body was screaming, coming apart at the seams. He screamed in agony, holding his head, rocking back and forth. Bones snapped, knitted themselves back together, broke again. Muscles tore, his head felt like it was splitting open.

He must have passed out.

When he woke again, he simply started to run. He didn't question how he could be running after enduring so much agony; he must have dreamt it. He ran as fast as his feet could carry him, covering more ground than ever before. The breeze rushed through his hair, his eyes could track the individual blades of grass as he ran. It was exhilarating.

A squirrel crossed his path; he barked.

Wait, _barked?_

Petrified, he sniffed the air. He smelled water nearby. He ran in that direction, skidding to a stop near the edge.

Blue eyes stared back at him, peering out from an unrecognizable face. Long snout, black fur, pointed ears. A wolf.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** Now we get into the meat of the story. Both Emma and Killian have some hefty trauma they're dealing with; you'll see hints of Emma's in this chapter. General outlines, but the same warnings apply. Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Not a chance in hell.

 **Chapter 1**

 _A flash of gold got his attention, his groin tightened. It was always her. He could smell her, sunshine and lavender, along with something else he couldn't put his finger on. Whatever it was, his body reacted, arousal making his skin warm and his cock swell. He wondered how she would torment him tonight._

" _I know you're there," he whispered. "You don't have to hide."_

 _It was almost pitch black in the room; he had a feeling he could only see what she wanted him to see. That was alright with him. He enjoyed the chase. Cool soft hands stoked his bicep; he shivered. "Now where's the fun in that?" his mystery woman purred. "I kind of like this."_

" _So do I," he admitted. She was the closest thing to a real human touch he'd known in some time; the wave of longing he felt threatened to make him say something he'd regret. He couldn't bear it if he frightened her off._

 _She chuckled, a warm rich sound. "Is that so? How much?"_

" _Why don't you let me show you?" It was futile, but he asked anyway. He always did._

" _My playtime," she murmured, her breath ghosting over his ear. He moaned loudly as she reached into his boxers and blatantly encircled his cock with a knowing hand. "Miss me?"_

" _God yes," he bit out as she stroked him. He rocked into her touch, desperate for more. Was it because he was so starved for human contact? Or was it just her?_

" _Hmm, perhaps we should test that theory." She bit down hard on his earlobe, sending a sharp jolt of need to his groin. He whimpered in complaint as she released him, but then he heard cloth hitting the floor._ Oh fuck yes, _he thought, reaching for her automatically as she straddled his face. He ran an experimental lick along her slit; he was rewarded with her breathy moan of pleasure. "Fuck, just like that," she breathed. "Don't stop."_

 _He had no intention of stopping. She tasted divine; he could spend hours between her thighs, simply tasting her. Her sex was bare, her lower lips swollen and wet. He licked her fervently, paying special attention to her sensitive nub. She rode his face, eager for more, demanding he make her come. Her first orgasm came hard, her body trembling, her cries echoing in the room. He didn't abandon his task, determined to make her beg for him to fuck her. He needed to be inside her tight heat, feel her walls snugly around him. His discipline was tested when she took his cock into her mouth, teasing the belled head, her free hand between his legs. It was like they were locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to back down._

 _This time, he won._

" _Fuck me," she panted, her hips riding his fingers. "Fuck me!"_

 _Faster than either of them could blink, he had her on her hands and knees cock positioned at her dripping hole, ready to slam home. He was stretched like a bowstring—so tight—only she could give him relief. So close, just one push…_

 _ **BEEP, BEEP, BEEP.**_

Killian Jones woke abruptly, a snarl on his lips. Who the bloody hell was that? What fucking time was it? His electric alarm said it was a little after four in the morning. _Fucking hell._ There were only a finite number of people who would be calling him at this hour, none of them welcome. He was hard as a rock, frustrated as all hell. This would not be a pleasant conversation. Killian rolled over and picked the offending device off his nightstand (which was little more than a bar stool, really). "This better be fucking important."

"Late night?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"We've got your favorite."

"Captain Morgan?"

The voice on the other end of the phone laughed, but for Killian, it wasn't a joke. If he didn't need to be on duty, he would undoubtedly be trying to dull his senses. Trying and failing. Fucking supernatural shit. Between that and his raging hard on, he was supremely pissed. "Your other favorite, a dead body."

Killian scrubbed his hand over his face; his beard needed a trim. Again. "Where?"

"Greyfriars."

"The cemetery or the old church?" The place was a historical landmark; it was a hell of a place to put a body.

"Luckily for us, the cemetery. He's in good company, our vic."

Killian swung his legs out of bed, his erection ebbing at the news of real work to do. "Tell me everything you know so far." While Alastair filled him in on the relevant details, Killian hurried through his routine. After setting some coffee brewing, he rifled through his closet for a shirt that wasn't wrinkled or stained or smelled bad. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done laundry; this time of the month, it didn't seem very important. He could always do it later. There was a green one that wasn't too bad; he tossed it on the mussed bed with his trousers and pants. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he informed his latest partner. Killian didn't expect Alastair to last any longer than the others; he knew full well what everyone said about him. He didn't give a shit. "Don't let the forensics boys muck it up."

"One of them's a girl, you know. Not that you know what those are."

"Sod off." He ended the call before Alastair could reply and tossed it aside, so he could shower. He could at least try to feel human.

Honestly, it wasn't Alastair's fault he was crabby. Killian was always antsy around the full moon. For the last five years, he was essentially its bitch. Pun definitely intended. Ever since he'd been scratched by that bloody dog…he shook his head. It was no use going around and around in his own head. The moon was approaching, he'd endure the pain and get on with his life. Just like he did every month for the last five years.

Killian moaned softly under the hot spray; he was tenser than he thought. That's what he got for only getting about four hours of restless sleep. The closer to the full moon it was; the worst he slept. It was like he could feel it calling to him, begging him to surrender to its power. But he never did. Yes, he changed into a large black wolf for three nights, but he still liked to pretend he was in control. It was the only thing keeping him sane.

Well, that and the dreams.

He couldn't remember when they started. Sometime after he'd been changed. He'd been too full of anger and resentment at the world to focus on anything besides getting answers. He left behind everything he cared about—his brother, Liam, their business, any hope of a normal life with love and family—a couple of months after his first change. It was too dangerous for him to remain in the city. There was nowhere for him to run. At first when he changed, everything was instinct, animal: run, hunt, feed, shit, piss…fuck. Killian let the animal control him, because he was too horrified by what had happened to him. He didn't feel human. He was a monster. He was desperate to keep it a secret from Liam; his brother would no doubt have sent him packing to the nearest asylum.

A close call with an actual dog convinced him that it was time to leave. In his lucid moments, he searched for the thing that had done this to him. The beast he'd thought was a dog must have been a wolf. A werewolf, like something out of a horror movie, or Harry Potter. It was insane, but it didn't change the facts. Killian knew what he felt, what he saw.

So he ran. Far from London. The thing that changed him must have been a man in his non-wolf state; Killian started an investigation. Complete with a dry erase board, photos, string, the works. He probably came off as one of those crazed conspiracy nutters. Eventually, it occurred to him that he might make more headway if he had some resources backing him up. That's why he'd become a cop. Nothing altruistic about it; a means to an end, nothing more.

Speaking of a means to an end…Killian squeezed some of his body wash into his hands and worked up a good lather. Since Alastair had so unkindly roused him from his dream, he needed to take care of matters himself.

The dream always started the same. He didn't have it every night, but it happened often enough that it had become a comfort. He could recall the details vividly: a faceless woman nuzzling his neck, her hands wandering his body. Even though he'd never seen her face, he knew some things about her. Soft golden tresses, clever hands, pert fuckable arse, swollen wet sex that demanded to be filled. Sometimes he got to, sometimes he didn't. Erotic sex dreams he could handle. It was the feelings the dream conjured in him that left him hollow and empty. Well, more so than usual.

But that wasn't important now. If he was going to be on his A game, then he needed to get his head on straight. Killian closed his eyes and focused on his mystery woman, the way she felt under him, her breathy moans as he took her from behind. He wrapped a soapy hand around his erection, his head falling back against the tiled wall. In his dream, he'd been on the verge of plundering her delicious heat, desperate to feel those snug walls around his girth. She would cry out in pleasure as he impaled her on his cock, quickly taking control and riding him like a porn star, showing him that she wasn't afraid. That she craved him as much as he craved her.

It was intoxicating.

He probably should have outgrown his fantasy woman ages ago, but she would not leave him. Some nights she tormented him, teasing him to the point of exquisite pain; some nights she was wild and hungry, more than a match for the monster he'd become. He craved both, craved her, even though she was only in his head.

Killian came with a low groan, his seed shooting against the tile. He stroked himself until he was spent, feeling both better and worse.

It wasn't like he was a monk. He certainly hadn't been before the change. He dated, just like any other guy in his twenties. Some serious, some not. He enjoyed his share of one night stands. Yet, whenever he felt someone getting too close, he'd break things off. He didn't know why. It just never felt right. He always assumed he would know The One when he saw her.

That dream went up in flames the night he turned.

He couldn't remember the last time he had sex as a man. Part of him was afraid. His senses weren't the only thing that had changed. He was stronger now too. Faster. It was enough of a struggle to be around regular humans, let alone be intimate with one. Even worse, he was afraid of doing to someone else what had been done to him.

His dreams would have to do.

After his shower, Killian got dressed and poured some coffee into his travel thermos. Being a cop could be quite boring; it didn't look like today would be one of those days. Phone in his pocket, keys and mug in his hand and he was off.

Killian didn't own a car, so he took a cab to Greyfriars. It was early still; the sun was just beginning to peak out from the eastern horizon. The cemetery was crawling with officers, as well as a pair of older gentlemen who did not appreciate being out of bed so early. He crossed under the yellow tape, his eyes scanning for Alastair. "Kirkland!"

"Here!" Alastair waved a hand, getting his attention. "I hope you haven't had breakfast yet."

Killian fought not to roll his eyes. If Alastair knew half the things he'd seen in the last five years…one corpse wasn't going to phase him. He picked his way through the stones and monuments; there was supposed to be some heavy hitters in this place, historical types. The cemetery dated all the way back to the fifteenth century; in the misty dawn, it still possessed a spooky quality. Fog hung just above, fighting the sun tooth and nail. "So what's…oh. That's…bloody hell." It wasn't the worst thing he'd ever seen, but it was the worst thing he'd seen done to a human.

The body was cut in half. Not at the waist, but diagonally across the torso. Killian couldn't even begin to figure out how someone did something like that. Medical training, perhaps? Hands and feet were missing, the face bashed in. Whoever did this did not want the body to be identified easily. "Anything?"

Alastair shook his head. "No prints that forensics could find. No wallet or bag. We might get dental, but it's a long shot." He stared at Killian with a curious expression, his brown eyes questioning. Alastair was the same age as Killian, but a couple of grades junior. "This was…savage."

"Aye." Killian set his thermos on one of the tombstones and pulled on a pair of gloves. He knelt down to pick through the victim's clothing—or what was left of it anyway—for any clues, but he didn't find anything. He couldn't smell anything other than the stench of rotting flesh and blood. Certainly nothing supernatural. It was rare for supes to attack humans these days, but it did still happen. Fledgling vamps, especially. "How long has the poor sod been here?"

"M.E. says three, four hours. Groundskeeper found him. Called his bosses before the police, if you can believe it."

"Probably wanted to cover his own arse. Don't judge him too harshly, Kirkland." He almost smirked, but quickly thought better of it. It wasn't Alastair's fault they were right outside a Scottish kirk. Just a coincidence.

"We've got officers canvassing the area, see if anyone saw anything." Kirkland puffed out his chest a bit, as if to show off his competence to Killian. Christ, had he ever been that wet behind the ears? Nemo would probably burst that bubble quickly. It was his way.

"Doubtful."

"It's almost the full moon," Alastair reminded him. "Weirder shit happens."

 _On the bloody full moon,_ Killian thought, but didn't say. For a moment, he wondered how Alastair would react if he knew about the wolf. He kept it a closely guarded secret, but there were some on the force who knew. It was impossible not to, since wolves had such a distinctive scent. Imagine his shock when he realized there were two other wolves in his recruiting class! A couple of times, others had tried to draw him into their packs, but Killian wouldn't bite. He didn't want to be _part_ of anything. He just wanted to find the bastard that did this to him and rip his head off.

"Are those the owners?" Killian asked instead, pointing at the gentlemen he spotted on his way in.

"The place is maintained by a trust. They must be on the board or something."

"You didn't ask?" Killian stood with a huff and yanked off his gloves with two loud snaps. After tossing them at his partner, he snatched his thermos and marched over to the edge of cemetery. "Morning, gentleman. My name is DI Killian Jones and I'll be the investigator in charge of this scene."

The older of the two—a man around sixty, nearly bald with gray eyes—held out his hand. "Joseph Cowles, esquire," he said, shaking Killian's hand firmly. "This is my colleague, Anthony Blackwood. We're with the Trust."

"So I hear. Who found the body?"

"Our head groundsman, Joe. He's been with us for twenty years. He's trustworthy."

"I'm sure he is, but I still need to question him."

"We sent him home."

Killian tried not to growl in frustration. "Then I'll need his details."

"But one of your officers already questioned him. I really must insist…"

"Have you seen the body, Mr. Cowles?"

The man looked disgusted. "Naturally not."

"Have you ever seen a dead body?"

"I can't say that I have, no."

"Then you'll just have to take my word for it and believe me when I say that I am the best man to question him. The smallest detail can break a case wide open. I assume you want to know who deposited a corpse in your cemetery?" It was a cliché, but it got his point across.

"Of course." Defeated, Cowles gave him the information on this Joe person. Killian made notes in his phone; almost no one carried those little notepads one saw on the telly. Too antiquated these days.

Killian questioned them about recent activity in the area: vandalism, pranks, suspicious characters, the basics. Ghost tours came through twice a week; Killian had to fight to suppress a grin. Of all the things people _thought_ went bump in the night, ghosts were the one thing that didn't. Once you were dead, that was it. There was no great beyond or paradise or any of that religious rubbish. Not that he went around advertising that fact. People needed that kind of bullshit to get through the day. Killian knew better. He knew exactly what was out there.

He was one of the monsters.

Cowles and Blackwood didn't have anything useful to say, at least not at this stage. He reserved the right to question them again. An officer took both men home; Killian returned to the body. The medical examiner's crew had arrived; they were trying to figure out how to get the pieces into the body bag for transport back to the morgue.

"Any other evidence?" Killian asked his partner.

"Just this." He handed Killian a small evidence bag; the paper inside was scorched and irregularly shaped like someone had yanked it out of a fireplace as it burned. "There's nothing on it."

Killian looked closer. His enhanced eyesight revealed some faint traces of ink, but even he couldn't make it out. Still, it was better than nothing. "I don't know about that. See what Whale can do with it."

Alastair looked skeptical. "You're the boss."

"I'm going to have a look around the neighborhood. In the meantime, see what you can do about IDing him, yeah?"

The cemetery was in one of the few remaining sections of Edinburgh that seemed frozen in time. Old Town they called it. Like London, the city was a mixture of ancient and modern, stone and steel. All the monuments and headstones in this particular cemetery were stone; a few weathered to the point of being unreadable. As he walked, he wished he knew more about Scottish history. Why choose this place? Did it hold some significance for the killer or killers? Were they trying to send a message? Or was it just convenient? It didn't appear that the victim had been killed there; there wasn't enough blood. If he had, Killian's nose would know. The metallic scent of iron was one he knew far too well.

There was always an answer. He just had to find it.

* * *

She hung back in the shadows until the hubbub passed. It had been quite some time since she'd been around this many humans. It was throwing her off. She watched as one of them peeled off from the pack, the lead investigator, maybe? He certainly had that look about him. Tall, blue eyed, scruffy, not worth her time. Yet. She didn't want to involve the humans, but depending on the situation, she may not have a choice.

Regina wouldn't tolerate carelessness.

Not that Regina knew she was here. For once, Emma was working entirely on her own. It might be nothing. Humans died every day. Perhaps not _quite_ so gruesomely, but they did. Car accidents, heart attacks, cancer, bombs, plain old murder. She'd witnessed a lot of cruelty over the last few centuries. It was enough to make anyone cynical.

Emma wished she cared enough to be cynical. She was simply dead inside.

After the cops cleared out, she stepped out from behind the church. If she gave a damn, she would have chuckled at the irony: a vampire hanging out in a church. Humans believed all sorts of foolishness. Churches didn't phase her. No crosses, no holy water, none of that. Not even the sun.

The bright yellow orb was fully up now; her skin tingled. _If_ she stayed out in it for too long, she'd move on to mild discomfort. Even longer, her skin would begin to crack. Not that she intended on testing that out. She had work to do.

The scent of blood wasn't as thick as she expected. There was some, but it was congealed and nasty. Bile rose in her throat, but she fought it. When she got back to the mansion, she would need to feed just to get the stench out of her nostrils. But the closer she got to the stone where the body had been, another scent got stronger.

Wolf.

She paused, sniffing carefully. She smelled multiple humans—some of whom desperately needed a bath—blood and wolf. It was unmistakable. But who?

She'd been a fledgling when the wars came to an end. Well, not exactly an end. More of a truce. Most supernatural beings agreed to coexist to prevent being wiped out completely. Regina told her that the vampires had been winning, but Emma wasn't so sure. It was hard to believe someone when every word they'd ever spoken to you was a lie.

No one knew what started it, but everyone knew how it ended. The four major species—vampires, werewolves, fae, and witches—agreed to form the Great Council, designed to mediate disputes between them. Each species had two representatives; the eight councilors rotated every fifty years, each chosen by their own people. Regina had been angling for a spot for the last hundred years, which Emma was conflicted about. On one hand, it would get Emma out from under Regina's thumb for the first time…ever. But it could also deprive Emma of her revenge. There would be no getting to Regina once she was puffed up with all that power.

Emma knew she was broken. She knew she was an anomaly. Most vampires did not want to murder their sires. Every vampire she'd ever known was devoted to their sire, sometimes to the point of nauseating dependency. But Emma knew it wasn't real. The sire bond was strong; she should know. She'd been trying to break free almost from the time she was turned.

Emma would never be free until Regina was dead.

Regina was the least of her problems right now. Who was the wolf? It wasn't the human who'd been sliced up; he worked for the scientific research branch of Mills Industries. She'd noticed some suspicious behavior from him recently, so she'd put a tracker in his bag. Which was nowhere to be found. A search of the surrounding ground turned up nothing. So why had the tracker led her here? If it wasn't in the bag, where was it? And where was the bag? The cops probably found the tracker. She wished them luck decrypting it. She'd written the software herself. But she had to find that case before Regina discovered it was missing.

As head of security, Emma would bear the brunt of her wrath.

So one dead human and a wolf at the scene. That didn't mean the wolf was the killer; it was simply interesting. Emma hadn't seen a real werewolf in over half a century; Regina kept her too close for that. She didn't like when her toys mingled with peasants; it might give them ideas. Emma didn't need to be around others; she had plenty of ideas, all on her own.

There hadn't been a wolf attack in the Edinburgh area for some time. A decade or more? Logically, she knew there had to be some in the city, just like there were vampires. Mingling with the humans, pretending to be one of them. To thrive in the modern world, supes had to adapt. In some cases, that meant getting a job, working among them. Emma never had the urge, not that Regina would let her off the leash long enough to try. Emma mostly interacted with her human counterparts via the computer. She was a champion telecommuter. Honestly, she preferred it that way. There was nothing in the human world that interested her.

Emma knelt in front of the stone, examining it for clues. Like the cops, she thought the victim had been killed somewhere else. The headstone Radley had been propped up against still had bloodstains. She reached out and daubed some on her finger, bringing it to her nose. Ew. She could just make out the B blood type, but the blood was old. It held none of the freshness of a new kill. Radley had likely been dead for a few hours before he was brought here.

"There aren't many like you who would wrinkle their nose at blood."

Emma's eyes snapped up; it was the plain clothes cop! She stood quickly, another whiff of the air telling her that _this_ was the wolf she'd smelled before. "And just who do you think I am?"

"Vampire."

She licked the blood off her finger, just to see how he'd react. It tasted terrible, but she concealed it. "Wolf."

"Mind telling me what you're doing at my crime scene?"

"A werewolf who's a cop. I've heard of that sort of thing."

"You should get out more, princess. Now are you going to answer my question, or do things have to get rough?" It had been a long time since Killian fought a vampire. Just once, when he'd been young and stupid. Arthur nursed him afterward, the wanker. At least this one was beautiful. He couldn't see what color her hair was; it was hidden underneath her hat. But she had delicate features, green eyes that burned intensely, and a body to die for. She'd been turned at the height of her beauty, around twenty one maybe? It was impossible to tell, of course. She could be a thousand for all he knew. Could vamps live that long? He supposed technically they were immortal—it was a trait werewolves and vampires shared, unlike their fellow supes—unless they met wrong end of a blow to the neck. Or fire. He never tested the legends to see if they were real.

Even though he was miserable, he liked being alive.

Emma looked him up and down; he wasn't bad looking. No, she took that back. Her earlier glimpse of him hadn't done him justice. Handsome with just the right touch of arrogance—his hand hovered over his belt buckle provocatively—bottomless baby blues, thick dark hair. And not just on his head. She spotted a generous amount poking out of the top of his open collar.

Objectively, she could call him hot. Except for that smell. It was a wolf thing. She probably smelled funky to him too.

She debated her options. She didn't have time to get into a metaphorical pissing match with a wolf. She had to find Radley's case. She also didn't trust this wolf. Emma didn't trust anyone. Still, she might be able to use him. At length, she held out her hand. "Emma Swan, chief of security for Mills Industries."

"Mills, huh?" Killian made her wait for almost ten seconds before accepting the proffered hand. As they shook, a strange feeling washed over him. Déjà vu? His skin tingled from where she'd touched him, but that simply might have been explained by how cool her skin was. Or perhaps it was cool to him. He did run hotter than the average person. Ultimately, he dismissed it and got back to the matter at hand. "And what does Mills want with my crime scene?"

"I can't tell you."

"Oh, come now, Miss Swan, you expect me to believe that?"

"Why should I tell you anything? I just met you. Hell, I don't even know your name, Fido."

Killian scowled. He hated being referred to as a dog. "DI Killian Jones."

"Jones. How ordinary."

"Nothing ordinary about me, Swan." Emma's eyebrows shot up at the use of just her last name, but she didn't call him out. "And you don't strike me at the coy type. So the question is: what are you hiding?"

She gave him a brittle smile. "Wouldn't you like to know?" Before he could question her further, she spun on her heel and stalked off. She half expected him to follow her; she was shockingly disappointed when he didn't. It occurred to her that she hadn't bantered like that with someone (let alone a man) in years. Possibly decades. She really only had contact with her "family"—at least in Regina's mind, it was a family. It was the most twisted family Emma could imagine. Unfortunately, it was the only family she could remember.

She was human once, like most vampires. She didn't _remember_ it, but she sometimes could summon feelings? She'd seen portraits of her parents. A petite raven haired princess and a tall blond handsome prince. At least that's what she'd pretended when she was small. She didn't know the truth. As she got older, her curiosity about them waned. Regina had taken her in after her home had been devastated by a blight. Emma didn't understand that her savior was a vampire when she was very small. She was just Aunt Regina, the woman who cared for her, read to her, taught her how to take care of herself.

When she discovered the truth, she wasn't frightened. Perhaps she should have been. She simply couldn't see Regina as something that was frightening. Emma loved Regina; the woman was the only mother figure she'd ever known. She didn't grasp Regina's manipulation until she was much older. It was subtle. As Emma entered her teenage years, there was a change in the kinds of people that she was exposed to. Men, women, sensuality, sex. Regina was a very sensual person; she used her sexuality to get what she wanted. Emma had been too young (and too human) then to know what was really happening. How Regina was grooming her.

She lost her virginity at seventeen. At first, she tried to keep it a secret, convinced that Regina would be furious. She was oddly possessive of Emma. But the opposite happened. Instead of being furious, she'd encouraged Emma to explore _more._ Over the next few years, Emma had lovers of both sexes, although she favored men. She loved making them beg for her.

She missed that.

The idea of growing old and losing everything she loved was abhorrent to her. She was afraid of being alone. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to find someone to love her the way she needed. Regina was unsurprised—but pleased— when Emma asked to be turned. It wasn't until later that Emma realized that had been Regina's plan all along. The woman she'd loved as mother figure was actually the source of all her misery.

Emma shook her head; she couldn't focus on Regina right now. If she let her anger and resentment out, she'd lose sight of what was important. As of right now, that was finding Julian Radley's case. She wanted to know what could have been in it that someone thought was worth killing for.

Should she have told the detective? She was sure it was relevant to Radley's murder. Of course, authorities didn't _know_ the corpse belonged to Julian Radley. She didn't plan on helping them; as far as she was concerned, this was an internal matter. Radley was one of their leading scientists; he was working on a couple of projects that were important to the future of Mills Industries. He was privy to other company secrets as well. He was a valued employee, especially for a human.

She started by retracing the wolf's steps through the neighborhood. In their brief acquaintance, he'd struck her as marginally competent. It was easy to follow the scent. She didn't spot anything out of the ordinary, nothing to tell her where Radley had been killed. She'd have to visit the office, check his computer.

Emma took a cab back to the compound, on the edge of the city. It dropped her off just down the road, and she walked the rest of the way. The Georgian mansion sat on five acres, surrounded by high thick hedges and an iron fence. It looked older than it really was. They'd only lived there for about twenty years; barely a blink in the life of a vampire. The damn thing even had a tower. Since she had placed the security cameras herself, she knew each and every gap. They were small, but they were there. She slipped through the hedge and vaulted over the fence. It was almost midmorning; if she was lucky, most of the house would still be asleep.

Emma crept through the halls as silently as she could, passing Regina's office, the ballroom and the kitchen. The latter was only there for appearances, in case Regina needed to entertain non-vampires. It was rare, but there was another schmooze session on the horizon. Emma hated them. She would be expected to dress up, play the dutiful second in command while Regina tried to recruit people to her side. You'd think after a century, she would simply give up. Find other things to focus on.

 _She does have something else to focus on, remember?_ Emma bit her lip to stop herself from gnashing her teeth. Emma had intimate knowledge of Regina's other ambition. One Emma would do anything in her power to thwart. The very idea filled her with rage.

She climbed to the second floor, so intent on reaching her destination that she didn't realize she was being watched. She was about to enter her office when an all too familiar voice called out.

"Hot date, Emma?"

She groaned inwardly. She so did not have time to deal with this now. "You know better than that." She hadn't been permitted to date for _years._ Regina's plans didn't include Emma's happiness.

Graham suddenly appeared at her back, his breath ghosting over her neck. Her body offered nothing, no feeling, no reaction of any kind. It had been so long since she felt anything positive that wasn't artificial; she wasn't sure she knew how anymore. Not that it mattered. She didn't need to feel happiness or joy to get her revenge. Her hatred was enough to sustain her.

"You'll be at the ritual?" Graham's hand slid down her leather clad arms; Emma had no idea why he even tried. He knew full well that she'd never let him touch her of her own free will. Emma hadn't had free will when it came to her own body in a long, long time.

"You say that like I have a choice."

"Why do you fight her?" he asked softly. "It has to be exhausting."

"Not really."

"Have your secrets then." Graham stepped back, which surprised her. Was he toying with her? Was he planning on running to Regina with news of her extracurricular activity? Emma realized belatedly that she smelled of the outdoors; there might even be a whiff of that wolf on her. She'd need to bathe as soon as possible. What had possessed her to touch him?

"Graham…" But he was already gone.

Huffing in frustration, Emma pushed the door open and entered her office. She locked it securely behind her before passing through to her bedroom suite. Everything that belonged to her was in that space. It wasn't very much; Regina often chided her for her spartan lifestyle. Emma accepted the lavish clothes that Regina insisted she wear on ceremonial occasions (or those other occasions that Emma didn't like to think about), but she maintained her own style. It evolved over the centuries, but Emma had to admit she liked modern wear the best. Give her some leggings and a sweater any day.

As much as she needed to check the tapes for Radley's last hours, she needed to bathe first. Just in case. She stripped out of her clothes, leaving everything strewn on the floor. Someone would pick it up later. She turned on the water as high as she could stand (and being a vampire, that was pretty hot) and stepped under the spray.

She barely flinched as the hot water sluiced down her body; she was used to it. Grabbing some soap and her loofah, she scrubbed herself thoroughly, twice. She even washed her hair. The scent of lilac and roses filled her nostrils; it wasn't the scent she would have chosen for herself. She thought of the wolf. Underneath his distinctive scent, she'd caught a whiff of sandalwood and earth. He smelled like the outdoors. She missed that.

What the hell? Thinking about that damn wolf was the last thing she needed to be doing. Annoyed, she shut off the water abruptly and stepped out. She dried herself off then wrapped both her body and her hair in separate towels. Then she padded back into her office to turn on her computer. Her first order of business was the tracker. A search told her that her instincts were correct. The little red dot was blinking right in the center of the police forensics lab.

So someone had removed the tracker from the bag when they killed Radley and placed it on his corpse. But why? It would make more sense to destroy it. Unless the killer wanted the body found by whoever placed the tracker in the first place. Which was Emma. Was this some sort of message? For her? Or Regina? The latter was more likely, but Emma kept tabs on all of Regina's enemies. It was part of her job. She didn't think any of them had the balls to so blatantly violate the Accords. All human associates were strictly off limits. If humans started dropping left and right, their secret would be out, placing all supes in danger.

Emma hadn't been close enough to the body to see if she could scent any supes on him. That detective probably would have pushed her harder if there had been though. So that left a human culprit. "Let's see where you've been, Julian," Emma murmured to herself as she remoted into Julian's workstation. It was early enough in the day that he wouldn't be missed yet. Company computers went into lockdown if they weren't logged into in a timely manner every day. It was to prevent the theft of corporate secrets.

Mills Industries dabbled in many things. For centuries, vampires had been seeking a way to synthesize human blood. Among traditionalists, it was the worst sort of betrayal, but with the advent of the Accords, it became imperative. Secrecy must be maintained at all costs. Yes, supes possessed extraordinary abilities, but they were also outnumbered. Their history was littered with tales of human mobs, come to wipe them out. Fighting amongst themselves only opened them up to exposure.

The work benefitted the humans too, allowed them to live longer, healthier. But it made the vampires rich. That wealth allowed them to branch out into other things. Regina was obsessed with youth and vitality; she was working on turning that into something that could make her money. That's what Julian had been working on: dissecting vampirism to create enhancements for humans. Not just beauty products either. Regina had far bigger plans.

Emma didn't concern herself with the morality of her sire's business practices. She understood exactly what Regina was. Until she could break the sire bond there wasn't anything she could do about it anyway. She was literally trapped in this hell for all eternity.

She spent over two hours combing through the contents of Radley's hard drive. At first, she didn't find anything unusual, just files filled with equations she didn't understand and reems of research. There wasn't anything odd in his email correspondence either. She decided to look through deleted files. If he was working on something secret, that was where it would be.

What the hell?

There were _no_ deleted files. None. That didn't make sense. Everyone deleted something. Even if it was a draft of an email that was never sent. Spam mail. A "kick me" sign. People deleted things, mistakenly believing them to be gone afterward. Thanks to the cloud and the internet, nothing was ever _really_ gone. A resourceful person (which Emma was) could find out your secrets. But there was nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing. She discovered some aborted pathways in the code, like things had been snipped out. Like the missing files had been forcibly removed from the system. She searched the Mills Industries mainframe, cursing under her breath. Had they been hacked? It was supposed to be impossible, but there could be someone smarter than her out there. Not likely, but possible.

That was a bust too. Radley's computer seemed to be the only one affected. But why weren't his files in the cloud? That, she didn't understand. All the more reason to find his case.

Had the police contacted his family yet? A quick check of the police files told her that they still didn't have an ID, so perhaps not. She certainly didn't want to be the one of give them unpleasant news. She didn't have the first clue how to comfort someone. It had been too long since she'd experienced a comforting touch.

Emma leaned back in her chair, frustrated. It was too late to go to the lab to do a more thorough search; going there now in the middle of the day would raise suspicion. Her reluctance to delve into the human world was working against her. She'd just have to suck it up. Regina wouldn't be phased by the knowledge that a human was dead. Emma learned long ago, empathy had no place in Regina's heart. No, Regina would be much more concerned with company secrets going missing. If Emma could keep that under wraps until she found the case, then Regina wouldn't care. She was much too distracted to pay much attention anyway.

It was a gamble, but a good one. No one knew Regina better than Emma.

It would make her revenge all the more satisfying.

* * *

Killian shoved open the door to the lab. "Mills Industries."

Alastair and the lab tech stared at him, confused. "Mills? What's that got to do with anything?"

He couldn't mention his encounter with the vampire, so he improvised. "Hunch. Just check. See if they have any staff missing. Might help us ID our victim."

Alastair shrugged. "Whatever you want." He left the room, summoning a few officers to accompany him by phone. Killian turned his attention to the lab tech. "Victor. Got anything for me yet?"

"You can never give a man time to work, Jones," Victor groused, adjusting his glasses. "What's the rush?"

"A man brutally murdered isn't enough of a rush for you?"

"He's not exactly going anywhere, you know."

"Someone went to a lot of trouble to ensure the guy wasn't identified. That makes me very suspicious." Not to mention the pretty vampire who was also interested in his death. Killian had a feeling she _knew_ exactly who their victim was and wasn't telling. That gave her an advantage. If the killing had been committed by a human, then he needed to face human justice, not whatever sick shit the vampires would do to him. So that meant Killian would have to work twice as hard to catch up. "Anything you can give me, Victor. Seriously."

"Okay then." Victor returned to the contents of his file. "Nothing unusual in his stomach. Last meal, that sort of thing. It was pretty cut up by the way, probably from being hacked in half."

"Any idea what did that?"

"Meat cleaver?" Victor noticed the look on Killian's face and backtracked. "Still working on it. But I'd be willing to bet the perp had some sort of medical training."

"Why's that?"

"Because of how the hands and feet were severed." He showed Killian photos of the stumps; Killian was thankful once again that he wasn't squeamish. He never really had been, but the things he'd witnessed since his transformation ensured that he was immune to the worst. "What about the paper Kirkland found?"

"Well, you were right. There is something on it." He led Killian across the room, then allowed him to peer under the black light.

"What is that?" There were symbols he didn't understand, chemicals maybe?

"Some sort of equation. I've never seen anything like it."

Killian frowned. "Never?"

Victor shook his head. "Some of those elements don't appear on the periodic table."

"That's impossible." But was it? Killian knew that things that most people would consider to be impossible were very real. He was living proof of that. Not that he could explain any of that to Victor. "Keep looking. That equation could be why they killed the poor bastard."

A mysterious chemical equation? A vampire at the crime scene? Perhaps it was time for Killian to find this Emma Swan and find out what was _really_ going on here. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Apologies for the long delay between updates! Life kind of got away from me and I've been trying to give attention to all my WIPs. But this story is back. Just a warning. PLEASE READ THE WARNING. If you are easily squicked or triggered by some of the themes in this story, run now!

 **WARNING:** This chapter includes some brief Emma/other, non con. If either of those things bother you, don't read. Or skip down. But don't come crying to me, saying you weren't warned. **THIS IS YOUR WARNING.**

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine.

 **Chapter 2**

"Emma! Emma!"

Emma rolled her eyes, trying to ignore Aurora's racket. She didn't have time for this foolishness. She'd gotten an alert that the police were starting to poke around. Nothing to be worried about yet; her staff could hold them off until she could get there. No one was searching the Mills labs without her presence. Let the police get a warrant if they wanted to search. All of that was just a distraction. It also annoyed her that the wolf she met was clearly cleverer than she'd given him credit for. He was behind the scrutiny; she was sure of it.

She could worry about DI Killian Jones later.

Her first priority was to keep Regina in the dark until she had something concrete to report, a feat made somewhat easier considering all of Regina's attention was on the evening's ritual.

Which was the precise thing Aurora was being so persistent about.

"Emma!"

"Fine!" Emma cried testily. "Get in here and make it quick!"

Aurora burst through the door, looking dazzling in a sheer black halter gown with her hair piled elegantly on top of her head. Like most vampires, Aurora had been beautiful as a human, but the change only enhanced it. Her pale skin practically glowed under the black gown; her eyes were bright with excitement.

Until she saw Emma.

"Goodness, Emma. You're not even dressed yet!"

Emma didn't look up from her computer. "I'm not the main attraction at these things anyway. If it were up to me…"

"You wouldn't go, we know," Aurora finished for her. Without Emma's permission, the younger vampire snatched up Emma's hair brush and began to drag it through her long golden locks. Emma ignored her in favor of her laptop, where she was still searching diligently for some clue with regard to the subject of the files missing from Radley's computer. Aurora was an airhead, one of Regina's sycophants, so Emma wasn't worried about her seeing something she shouldn't. Aurora didn't know a kilobyte from a keyboard, so her secret was safe.

"Honestly, I don't know why you have to be so surly all the time. There are a lot of us who would kill to be in your shoes."

Emma huffed. "I highly doubt that, Aurora. You have no idea what being in my shoes means." And Emma planned on keeping it that way. She couldn't risk anyone trying to stop her when the time came to end Regina once and for all.

If that moment _ever_ came.

"But Graham is so dreamy!" Aurora exclaimed.

"Then maybe you should bed him," Emma grumbled.

"You know I can't," Aurora snapped, pulling just a hair too hard with the brush. Emma knew it was on purpose, but she didn't flinch. If she could, she would _give_ Graham to anyone who wanted him. She certainly didn't. Sure, he was conventionally attractive; in her human days, she probably would have taken great pleasure in bending him to her will. But he was _Regina's_ toy. She'd claimed him, sired him, took him into her bed. It wasn't until recently that she "bestowed" him on Emma. And not out of the kindness of her heart. No, Regina wanted something. Something she couldn't have. Something she wanted so badly that she was trying to will it into being by force.

It made Emma sick.

"None of us get what we want," Emma shot back, snapping the laptop closed. She'd tarried long enough. If she didn't hurry, Regina would have her head. "Leave me. I can get ready on my own."

Aurora tossed the brush away. "Suit yourself. I was only trying to help."

"I don't need your help." The moment the door closed again, Emma hurried to her closet. She walked past her more modest modern wardrobe to find the gown Regina had chosen. It was a bright red, one shouldered and floor length with a tall slit up one thigh. It didn't bear an obscene amount of skin, but Emma hated it anyway. It was designed to draw attention. She didn't _want_ to stand out. She didn't even want to attend this fucking ritual. It brought back too many memories, things she tried to forget.

Emma peeled off her leggings and sweater, then forced herself into the gown. It fit perfectly, hugging her curves in such a way that undergarments were unnecessary. Plus, she was a vampire. She traded her boots for tall stilettos, then went to work on her hair and makeup. Aurora had actually done a decent job of brushing Emma's hair into glossy smoothness; she decided to leave it down. She only applied light makeup; Emma hadn't been exaggerating when she said that she wouldn't be the center of attention. No, all eyes would be on Regina, which was exactly how Regina liked it. Regina only gave her favorites gowns and jewels like Emma's because it reflected well on _her._ Regina wanted everyone to know that she was wealthy and fully capable of taking care of her people. It was good publicity. That was all.

Far too soon, there were no more reasons to delay. Emma's suite was in one of the remote wings of the mansion; still, she could hear voices the moment she opened her door. She followed them into the cavernous ballroom, which glittered in gold and precious stones. The sashes for the tall windows were thrown open; Emma knew it was to set the proper mood when the time came. Out of habit, she scanned the guests, searching for trouble.

Representatives from over a dozen vampire covens were in attendance. Most she knew on sight. An impressive gathering for a simple turning. Not that Regina ever did anything simple. There were over a hundred humans present too; snacks no doubt. The humans—generally speaking—didn't perish at these things. About fifty years ago, a couple of newly minted vamps got a bit carried away; Emma had spent nearly three weeks covering it up. The humans she saw looked slightly punch drunk, their eyes unfocused. Glamored. They would be none the wiser in the morning.

"What kept you?"

Emma kept her expression neutral. "I'm head of security, Graham. I actually have a job to do."

"Are you implying that I don't?"

Emma had to bite her tongue, lest she say something rash. "Can we not do this now?"

"Emma, this would be so much easier if you just stop fighting."

"Easier for who? You? Sorry, I don't have time to make your life easier, Graham."

"She's not going to stop," he countered quietly. Even Emma had to strain to hear him. Vampires had extraordinary hearing, so that was quite a feat. "You know that."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it. Don't you hate it? Being manipulated? Not knowing what's real and what isn't?"

"Regina only wants us to be happy, Emma."

 _Good god, he's as brainwashed as the rest,_ she thought bitterly. Was she the only one who felt like this? Who know how much of a horrible person Regina truly was? Then again, Emma doubted anyone else had as complicated a relationship with Regina as she did. It was so twisted and fucked up…Emma's best defense was pure indifference. She had to pretend she didn't care because if she didn't, she would break completely.

Emma didn't dignify Graham with a response. She strode over to the nearest refreshment table and took a long drink of whatever was available. The alcohol burned going down her throat. She couldn't get drunk, but if she had enough, she might feel a little tingly.

"Well, well, well. Aren't you a vision?"

Emma didn't even bother to turn around. "Hello, Walsh."

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

She laughed bitterly. "When were we ever friends? We were fuck buddies, nothing more." Walsh was just one in a long string of relationships that she'd used to try and feel something. Something that wasn't fake.

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think? I thought we had some fun together."

"Not really my idea of fun."

Walsh ran his fingers over her bare shoulder. "Liar," he whispered in her ear.

"Don't let Regina see you. She'll have your head for even looking at me."

"She still have you on the leash? You must have done something truly wicked. Color me intrigued."

Emma shook him off, glaring up at him. "If you don't stop touching me, your head will be mounted on Regina's wall before the hour is through."

"I thought you'd have the decency to kill me yourself. Isn't that what you are? Regina's attack dog?" Walsh sneered at her, his lips curling in disgust. He stalked away, and Emma sighed. She hated this. She hated everything about this. She had to find a way to free herself. For centuries, she'd been searching, playing Regina's loyal servant by night. Acting. Pretending that she still worshipped the ground the woman walked on, just like Emma had when she was human. As the centuries past, Emma perfected the charade, so much that others believed it. And while that was what she _wanted,_ it still hurt.

A bell chimed. Gradually the room grew quiet, the spectators by the main entrance parted to allow the huge oak doors to open. Another bell chimed. Two servants pulled the doors back to reveal the guests of honor: Regina Mills (of course) and the two newest hopefuls of her court. The first was a tall man, dirty blonde hair and dark blue eyes. What was his name? _John_ , Emma thought. Beside him was his brother, younger, but still handsome. Michael. Regina had been cultivating them for some time, having spotted them on a tour of one of Mills Industries' many shell companies. One of the London shipyards, if Emma remembered correctly. Hard labor formed them into strong lean specimens, exactly Regina's type. Flattered by her attention, she had them both wrapped around her finger in no time. Did Regina truly need more muscle? Or were these two being created solely to warm her bed? Emma didn't know and she didn't care. She just wanted this over with.

Regina stepped up on the dais, her white gown shimmering in the light. Emma believed this ritual was terribly antiquated and useless, but no one asked her opinion. A vampire didn't have to go through this to be turned; turnings by accident still happened. They were supposedly outlawed by the Accords, because it was very difficult to control a newly turned vampire. The fledgling needed to be supervised by their sire for at least a year so that they could be properly taught vampire customs. Otherwise, their kind risked exposure.

Regina loved attention; she thrived on moments like this. "Greetings, my friends. Thank you for visiting my humble home." Emma scoffed under her breath. The mansion was hardly humble. It wasn't the largest place Regina's court had ever lived in, but it wasn't a hovel. Regina did love her theatrics. "It is a joy to see so many old friends." She smiled at some of her guests in turn, especially the heads of the clams that she was desperately trying to woo to her side. A vote on the next representatives to the Great Council was still a couple of years away, but it was never too early to start campaigning.

Emma grabbed a fresh glass; more alcohol burned her throat. She knew what was coming. Regina continued. "As the leader of this coven, it is my responsibility to see to its strength. We are one of the oldest covens in Europe, but even covens such as ours need new blood." She paused and ran her hands over John's bare bicep. She was so fucking transparent! "I'd like to welcome John Darling and his brother Michael to our ranks! May they bring honor to this coven."

The guests applauded respectfully. Emma knew they were just waiting for the so-called fun to begin. Regina clapped her hands; more servants brought in the velvet covered settee and chair.

Regina turned to John. "Do you understand the gift that is being given to you?"

"I do."

 _There's no way he understands,_ Emma thought dully. _No way._ If Emma knew what she knew now, would she change anything? The frightening thing was that she didn't know. As miserable as her life was, there were bright spots. She considered all the history she'd witnessed. All the technological marvels she used every day. Learning was her one great passion; could she give that up?

It bothered her that she couldn't answer for sure. She wanted to believe that she would do everything differently. That she would have the strength to choose a mortal life. Perhaps she was as weak as Regina always believed she was. As weak as her parents were.

"Immortality comes a price," Regina continued. "Are you willing to pay it?"

"I am." Beside John, his brother also answered in in the affirmative.

Regina's lips curled in a seductive smile. "Good." With one hand she pushed John down by the shoulder and with the other she beckoned Michael forward. John parted the front of her gown and began to kiss and caress Regina's inner thighs. She made a mewling sound of pleasure as she drew his brother in for hungry kiss. Regina was highly sexed to begin with, but at a turning? She was insatiable. It was like she got off on the power of transformation.

Emma desperately wanted to look away, but she couldn't. Regina's power seeped into her muscles, the very marrow of her bones. Emma's body refused to obey her; her mind shrank from memories best left in the past. Like everyone of Regina's children, she was forced to watch as their sire took her pleasure from the Darling boys, every breathy moan, every whimper, every scream. Only when her lust was at its peak would she give them what they claimed they wanted. Life everlasting. Immortality. Death.

The sire bond was a cruel thing. Through it, Emma felt her core grow warm, her skin tingled. Around her, others felt it too, giving into their own lust, partnering with someone…or someone _s._ It was a decadent display, an orgy going on around her. Sex, feeding, the two were very intimately connected. The glamored humans didn't stand a chance, freely giving their bodies and their blood to the vampires around them. Emma spotted Graham out of the corner of her eye; she groaned, but not from pleasure. She didn't want this. She didn't want him. But she was helpless. Regina had seen to that, long ago.

Graham approached, sliding his hands down her arms. Emma shuddered. She watched stonefaced as Regina threw her new toy onto the settee and began to ride him, long loud moans tumbling from her lips. The younger one moved into position behind her, looking slightly drunk, and sank deeply into Regina's ass. Emma curled her fingers into fists, fighting the urge to touch herself. Or Graham. It wasn't real. The need she felt wasn't _real._ It wasn't. She might be forced to watch, to participate in this sick ritual, but everything she felt was fake.

As Regina climaxed one last time, she sank her fangs into John's throat. She drank deeply, still fucking him, riding out her high. Emma felt Graham yank her dress up and spread her legs. Disgusted, Emma wrenched her eyes shut as he sank into her, fucking her like a man possessed. She heard everything, the anguished scream of Regina's victim as he climaxed, the moans of need from others, the hard slap of skin as Graham rode her.

Emma knew what came next. John would drink from Regina as his heart slowed and then stopped. The blood in his system would work its magic and he would awake in a few hours…changed. Raw hunger would fuel him, and he would need to feed. Ravenous hunger like he'd never experienced would drive him. The brothers would need to be separated so they didn't turn on each other and compete for food.

Emma bit her lip as Graham bent her over further, pounding into her, taking, taking, taking. Emma did what she always did when forced to bed him. She retreated. She crawled away to the cave where Regina couldn't reach her, where Graham couldn't touch her.

Another scream rent the air; Michael was bitten. Regina was probably covered in blood—his brother's blood—and yet Michael would feed from her, desperate for it. He didn't understand what was happening, how he would change. Nothing would belong to him. Not his body. Not his emotions. Free will was a thing of the past. He was giving Regina everything and getting _nothing_ in return. Just emptiness.

Unable to resist, Emma's need climbed higher and higher, her traitorous body demanding release. She only gave in when she had no other choice, clamping down on Graham's cock. He grunted as she climaxed, following quickly. Emma had to fight the bile that rose in her throat; she would need to shower and feed as soon as possible. She couldn't bear the scent of him on her skin. The moment he released her, she backed away. Some random human was passing by; Emma grabbed her by the arm and sank her fangs into the young woman's throat. She took several long pulls, waiting for her head to clear. She felt it the moment Regina released them; her body her own once more. For now. Emma left as surreptitiously as she could while everyone was distracted by Regina's blood soaked spectacle.

Seed ran down her thighs as she dashed to her suite. Emma ripped off the gown and toss the shreds aside. She got into the shower and stood under the scalding hot spray. Residual pleasure still lingered; Emma grabbed her loufa and started to scrub her skin. She scrubbed until her skin was pink, nearly raw. She gave into numbness; her anger and hurt faded decades ago. Numb was how she survived. She shut off everything, every emotion, unwilling to give her sire the satisfaction of knowing how deeply Emma hated her.

Shower finished, Emma found her sweater and leggings, retreating back into comfort. She unlocked the secret drawer in her desk and downed another dose of her cocktail. She might belong to Regina, but there was one thing Regina would never have. Emma would make sure of it.

* * *

Killian went over Victor's report again. It was still just preliminary, but he would take anything he could get at this point. Alastair had done as he asked, checking into Mills Industries, but so far, he'd gotten stone walled. Employee information was privileged per an NDA each employee signed when he or she joined the company. Damn vampires. They took secrecy to a whole other level. As a werewolf working with humans, there were certain restrictions on him, but nothing like the vampires.

He'd have to get a warrant. He was _sure_ their victim was involved with Mills Industries; there was no other reason for their head of security to be at the crime scene. The question was why? Why did she care so much? Surely, she could have sent some minion to do her dirty work for her. Why come by herself?

Killian didn't want to admit it, but he was intrigued. Not by the murder, although that was certainly…different. It wasn't every day that a person was cut in _half._ No, Killian was intrigued by _her._ Emma Swan. Who was she? How long had she been a vampire? Why did she seem so familiar to him? He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her from somewhere. But that didn't make any sense. He hadn't met a vampire in years. He certainly didn't go out of his way to find them. They stayed in their lane and he stayed in his. He had enough going on to get involved with vampire politics.

Victor's report didn't have any information that the man hadn't told Killian himself. Their victim was killed somewhere else. He'd died from the sheer trauma of being hacked in half. Thankfully the bloody bastard had been dead when they removed his hands and feet.

They needed to find the real crime scene. Not to mention his name, next of kin. Did he have a wife? Children? People who were worried about him? If so, Killian envied him. He hadn't spoken to his brother in five years. They had a huge falling out when Killian decided to leave London. Liam didn't know that Killian was trying to protect him. The last thing he wanted was for his brother to get wrapped up in all this supernatural shit. No, Liam was better off living his nice normal, _human_ life.

It was something Killian could never have.

Right now, he had a murder to solve. He snapped the report closed and got out his phone. Until they heard back from the judge, he could interview their lone witness, the groundskeeper, Joe. Killian didn't bother to tell Alastair where he was going; it was getting late. Besides, more than one cop would probably frighten the poor bloke. Killian needed him cooperative, if he was going to get any information worth a damn.

He took another cab back to Greyfriars. The groundskeeper lived near the cemetery, a couple of streets over. Killian paid the driver, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine. The nearly full moon was high in the sky; very soon, he would be under its thrall. But not tonight. Tonight, he was still a cop trying to do his job.

Killian knocked on the door of the address he'd been given. He waited several long seconds, then knocked again. It was almost ten at night; his witness might have been asleep. Killian tried to peak into the nearest window; there was definitely a light on. "Police!" he said loudly. "I know you're in there!"

He heard shuffling, a grunt, then the door swung open. An older gentleman stood on the other side; Killian could smell the alcohol from where he stood. "Wha d'ya want?" the man—Joe, he presumed, asked in a thick Scottish brogue.

Killian got out his badge. "DI Killian Jones, Edinburgh Homicide Unit. I believe you discovered the body over at Greyfriars cemetery?"

"I did. So what?"

Killian tried again. "Could I come in and ask you a few questions? There are some things we're not quite clear on."

The man grunted, but Killian couldn't decide if he meant it in the affirmative or the negative. Joe turned and started to walk away with the door still open, so Killian thought he meant for him to follow. He shut the door behind him, following Joe into the house. The whole place was in disarray, clothes everywhere, bottles of various kinds of alcohol. It was hard to tell if this was how much the man drank regularly or if finding a dismembered corpse had drove him to new heights. Killian wouldn't have blamed him if it had. The memory of that body would stay with him for a long time as well and he was accustomed to such things.

"May I sit?"

Joe grunted again, roughly opening another bottle of…something. Killian couldn't tell what it was. He'd probably have to come back when the man was sober, but since he'd come all the way out here, he might as well try to get some useful information.

"Just so we have our records correct, could you state your name, age and occupation please?"

"Joe Miller, 68, caretaker."

"And you work for the Greyfriars Trust?"

"Aye. Have for neigh on twenty years now, after I left the service."

"You were in the armed forces?"

Joe straightened up as much as his rheumatic back would allow. "His Majesty's Marines. Enlisted right out of school."

Killian wrote that down. "That wasn't your first dead body, was it?"

Joe took another long drink. "Nah. Never saw anything quite like it though."

"Could you tell me? How did you discover the victim? What time was it?"

It took a while—Joe had to pause for a stiff drink every few minutes—but slowly a story emerged. Joe had come in early that morning; morning was the best time for his various ailments. He liked watching the sun come up over the trees by the old kirk. He smelled something foul as he entered the grounds; a bit of searching led him to the body. Afraid for his job, he called his superiors straight away. Being a groundskeeper didn't pay much, but with his pension, it was enough.

"Did you see anything else unusual? Any idea how the body got there? Or who he might be?"

Joe shook his head. "Sorry. I lock up tight at night; we've had some kids try to pull pranks, that sort of thing. Mostly on Halloween. Nothing this time of year. I dunno how he got there, poor bastard."

That was disappointing, but not surprising. The kirk and the cemetery didn't have security cameras either. Their only hope was to ID the victim. If they could do that, then it would give them a solid lead. It was time to visit Mills Industries.

* * *

"Bloody hell, who thought it was a good idea to give that wanker a gavel?" Alastair complained. "Fucking ponce."

"Wanna say that a little louder, mate?" Killian shot back. "Not a good idea to get on a judge's bad side." Killian suspected the judge was a sorcerer of some kind; he was getting weird vibe from the man. And his instincts were usually pretty spot on.

"But he was being unreasonable!"

"We were lucky," Killian countered, trying to control his temper. These young ones were too gung ho, hungry to make a name for themselves. Killian knew better. He'd taken his fair share of lumps coming up too. Thankfully, he'd had a mentor, someone like himself. Nemo helped him, in more ways than he could count. That man was the only reason he was a semi-functioning person these days. "Our probable cause is thin at best."

"You were the one who insisted we check out Mills Industries."

"Which is why I was the one putting my neck out with the judge. Just take the win, Kirkland." Warrant in hand, he led his team out to the waiting cars. He wasn't expecting a scene, but he was the only one who knew what they were really walking into. He also couldn't help but wonder if the blonde beauty would be waiting for them. From what he'd gleaned so far, she didn't come down from whatever ivory tower she lived in very often. Surely, this was serious enough to merit her personal involvement?

Why the hell did he care so much anyway? She was a vampire. Killian could barely tolerate his own kind, let alone vampires.

The main Mills Industries complex was down near the harbor. A tall sleek glass and steel building loomed above them. Thirty stories? Perhaps more? Mills presented itself to the world as a cutting edge biological research company, but Killian suspected that was only what they wanted the public to see. Beings that lived that long never latched on to one thing. He didn't have enough to investigate their books yet, but he suspected that was only a matter of time. First order of business was to identify the body currently laying in the morgue.

A gorgeous red head stood up from behind her glass desk, clearly alarmed by their arrival but trying not to show it. A quick sniff told Killian she was human. "May I help you?"

Killian held up his badge and the warrant. "Edinburgh police. We've got a warrant, love. Best just stand aside."

The woman's eyes widened, looking even more panicked. What had these vampires done to her? "You can't go up there! I really must insist…"

"Lass, you can't stop us. Your boss can't stop us, unless they want to cause a scene." Interfering with the wheels of human justice were generally frowned upon in their world. Everyone was expected to play ball. It kept everyone safe, whether they wanted to admit it or not. He was about to say something to that effect, but then he heard the click of heels. A now familiar scent wafted through the air. Killian was the only one to turn, a strange feeling twisting in his gut. What the hell?

Emma Swan strode confidently down the wide staircase, dressed in a crisp white blouse and pencil skirt, complete with suspenders. It was a very modern professional look. Her golden tresses were pulled up in an elegant knot, held together with a thin piece of silver. Of course, it was silver. Killian knew he should have felt threatened, but he didn't. He couldn't explain why. The only thought in his head was that she was breathtaking.

The plain clothes cops parted as she moved in his direction. "How can I help you, gentlemen? And lady," she added, nodding at one of the other officers.

Was she pretending they hadn't met? It seemed that way. Fair enough, he could play along. For now. "We've got a warrant to search your employee files, Miss…?"

"Swan, Emma Swan, chief of security," she replied briskly. "As I'm sure you can appreciate, we take the privacy of our employees very seriously. May I examine the warrant?"

"Of course." It wouldn't change anything, but he could be courteous. He might need her cooperation somewhere down the line. Their fingers brushed as he handed it over; his skin seemed to spark. Only his control kept his face a mask. They were surrounded by humans.

Emma curled her fingers tighter into the paper than was strictly necessary. What the hell? She peered at the wolf from over the paper as she unfolded it; everything seemed normal. His breathing was even, his hands were now shoved into his pockets. But the eyes. Those crystal blue eyes were the only thing that stood out. The pupils were slightly dilated with a hint of something she couldn't identify. What was his deal?

She wanted to just throw him and his buddies out, but the warrant was in order. There wasn't anything she could do. Best to cooperate and get them out as soon as possible. "Our HR department is near my office, actually. I can take you there."

"Very kind of you, Miss Swan." Killian gestured to his team, while watching Emma out of the corner of his eye. She spoke softly to the human behind the desk, but Killian didn't spot anything untoward. Vampire glamors didn't work on other supes, so he wasn't familiar with the sensation, but it didn't look like a glamor to him. He made a mental note to check on the woman later to make sure.

Emma led them toward the bank of elevators. "We'll be going to the thirteenth floor."

"Someone has a sense of humor," Killian observed. Even these days, the superstitions regarding the number thirteen persisted. It was utter nonsense, but humans were funny that way.

"I'm glad you approve," Emma replied, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. Why did that make his chest tight? She was stunning, sure. But there was something about _her_ that he was drawn to. "I had to fight to get it included."

Killian chuckled. "I have a hard time believing anyone would gainsay you, lass."

A shadow crossed her face. "You'd be surprised."

They fell quiet as the elevators took them up. Killian and Emma were joined by his partner, Alastair, and a handful of other officers. Alastair was blatantly checking Emma out; his eyes were slightly glazed over. Killian instinctively moved between his partner and the blonde. Then he realized he'd done it and moved back. Idiot. He had to get a control of this feeling in his gut or this was going to be a very long investigation.

"I hope you don't mind if I hang around while you search?"

"You can do anything you like," Alastair drawled. Killian glared at him.

"Just stay out of the way," Killian muttered. "And let us do our job."

"Nancy, Jerry, these officers are going to need your computers," Emma said to the pair of workers behind the desks. "It's alright." The HR employees moved aside, and a couple of Killian's officers slid into their seats. While his team worked, Killian decided this would be a good time to see exactly how Emma Swan wanted to play this.

He got out his phone and opened his notes. "Mind if I ask you a few questions, Miss Swan?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"How many people work here?"

She shrugged. "At this location or at Mills in general?"

"You pick."

"We've got over ten thousand employees, Detective. Is that important?"

"Notice anyone missing? Not call in? Out sick?"

"I'm head of security, not human resources. Our employees arrange that sort of thing with their individual supervisors."

Killian leaned in close, so only she could hear him. "What game are you playing, love?" he whispered. "We both know the bloke in the cemetery is one of yours."

Her eyes sparked with something akin to respect. "I'm surprised it took you this long to figure that out."

"We both know I had people calling here yesterday, Swan."

Emma nodded toward the door. "My office?"

He grinned. "Lead on."

Emma tapped her index finger and her thumb together as they entered the hallway and headed for her office. Normally, her office was only for show; she was never actually there. But she knew she needed to be here today. She hadn't known the cops would show up—with a warrant, no less—but she needed to look at Radley's computer station. Finding DI Jones at her front door was just a bonus. Now she could find out what the cops knew.

"Please, have a seat."

Killian sat in the plush chair across from the small glass desk. Glass seemed to be a theme in this place; it was everywhere. A thin laptop sat to his left; a single file lay closed in the center. The office didn't appear very lived in; there were no plants, no pictures, no art. Hell, there wasn't even a filing cabinet. Just a single desk and two chairs.

"Something wrong?"

Killian shook himself. "No, it's just…not what I expected."

"What did you expect? Crosses? Holy water? A copy of _Dracula?_ "

"We both know all of that's rubbish."

Emma smirked, reaching up to pull the silver dagger out of her hair. The loosened tresses fell in golden waves, momentarily distracting him. "This isn't rubbish."

He stared her down, refusing to be intimidated. "If you meant me ill, you would have killed me at the cemetery. You didn't."

"Anyone ever tell you vampires are capricious? We've been known to change our minds. Like this." She snapped her fingers loudly. "I could kill you right now and no one would know."

"I've got an entire team down the hall."

"And this is a building filled with vampires."

Killian stood up, planting his hands on the desk and leaning in close. Her scent was even more potent this close; he struggled not to inhale deeply. "You don't strike me as the capricious type, love. In fact, I think you're very deliberate and patient."

"What makes you say that?"

He ignored the question. The truth was, he didn't _know._ It was just a gut feeling. He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew her from somewhere. "You want to know what we've got. What if I could assure you that I don't give a damn what Mills is into? All I care about is who killed our friend in the cemetery. I find that out, and you'll never have to see me again."

Emma looked him up and down, finally settling on those eyes. He was serious. "What are you proposing? We _work_ together?"

"What have you got to lose? From where I sit, we've got a common goal. You wouldn't have been snooping if you didn't have a stake in the victim. So, why don't we just cut through all the supernatural posturing bullshit and work together?"

As much as she hated to admit it, he did have a point. She was screwed the moment he found her in the cemetery. The only other option was to kill him, and she didn't want to do that. Not really. She had never been into the "kill for fun" scene. She fed, like all vampires, but she wasn't sadistic. She wasn't like Regina. She'd spent too many centuries cleaning up Regina's messes.

Still, she kind of wanted to toy with him for a few more moments. It was fun. "How do I know you won't try to kill me?"

"Why would I want to kill you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Me vampire, you wolf. Isn't that how it goes?"

He actually grinned at her. It was a heart stopping grin, lighting up his whole face. He was already handsome, but this was something else. "You've got a lot to learn about wolves, love. I'm going to enjoying teaching you."

Why did that sound so _dirty?_ Emma suppressed a shiver, something very akin to _lust_ shooting down her spine. But that was ridiculous. Emma couldn't be attracted to a wolf. She didn't even remember what real lust felt like. Time to get back to the matter at hand. "Alright, Jones. You have a deal." She thrust out her hand, carefully keeping her face still. The wolf wrapped his larger hand around hers, his skin so _warm_. He held her eyes as they shook, something unreadable in them. What was he thinking? And why the hell did she care so much?

Killian released her hand, settling back into his plush chair. "Now that we've decided to play nice, why don't you enlighten me about our victim?"

Emma sat in the seat opposite him, crossing her legs. "Isn't that what the warrant's for? Your minions should know soon enough." Jones—Killian—merely cocked a brow at her. "Fine. Julian Radley. You're right, he's one of ours."

"How did you know he was missing?"

"I put a tracker in his bag. When I realized he wasn't where he was supposed to be, I scanned for the tracker. It led me to the cemetery. But someone took the tracker from the bag and put it on the body."

"Do you typically put GPS on all your employees?"

Emma smirked. "No. But Julian was working on some very…sensitive material. Material that I…we need back." The man had been acting suspiciously, but Killian didn't need to know that.

Killian noticed her slip, but he didn't call her on it. He was still trying to gain her trust. "We didn't find any sort of bag at the scene."

"I know. When I checked the tracker after we parted, it showed up in the police lab."

"So where does that leave us?"

"I was hoping you could tell me, Jones."

"As I'm sure you've already gleaned, Radley wasn't killed at the cemetery."

"Not enough blood. He'd been dead for hours before he was found."

Now Killian was intrigued. Just how much could vampires deduce from blood? He got out his phone. "Any idea how long?"

"Don't you have pathologists for this sort of thing?"

"We do, but I'd like your opinion. I've never consulted with a vampire before."

"Is that what this is? A consultation?"

His lips quirked up in a half grin. "It can be whatever you want it to be, Swan."

Was he…flirting with her? It seemed impossible—insane even—but it seemed to be the only logical explanation. Whatever it was, it was _weird._ Weird, but strangely, not unpleasant. "Alright, I'll play along." She leaned forward. "He'd been dead, three, maybe four hours from the taste of the nasty congealed blood. The extremities were removed post mortem, as well as the frankly amateur job of bashing in his teeth. I'd say that whoever did the slicing had some sort of medical training, given the way the hands and feet were removed. How'd I do?"

Killian consulted the notes he'd made from Victor's report. "Let's just say if you were looking for a second career, you'd have no trouble."

"Actually, it would be my forty sixth, no, forty seventh career."

Killian swallowed. How old was she? As he'd noted during their first meeting, it was impossible to tell. She didn't look older than twenty-three, _maybe_ twenty-five. Physically, he was older. Literally? He had no idea. Just another layer to intrigue him.

"How long have you been chief of security?"

"For Mills Industries? Since its founding back in the eighties."

"The _nineteen_ eighties?"

"You're the detective. You tell me. Am I lying?" This was certainly new. Usually, _she_ was the one deducing liars. She had to admit that it was fun being on this end of the exchange.

Killian scrutinized her face. She might appear younger than he, but her eyes…they looked haunted, like a person that had seen too much, experienced too much. He felt an irrational urge to protect her, which was patently ridiculous because she was a _vampire._ She was more than capable of taking care of herself. Hell, she'd probably killed more people than he could count. Perhaps even some of his kind. He shouldn't trust her. He shouldn't have even suggested this arrangement. But it was too late now. For better or worse, they needed each other.

"No, I don't believe you are."

Emma tapped her finger on the desk, thinking. If she was going to do this, then she needed to at least appear to be cooperating fully. She'd worry about keeping it from Regina later. There would be a _lot_ of showers in her future. "Once I realized the case was missing, I knew I needed to see what information Julian could have had on his computer."

"You don't allow employees to take their work home?"

"Not the laptops. Julian's been with the company for a long time. I'm sure he had hand written notes."

Killian nodded. "I found part of one, I think. My human colleagues couldn't see the ink, but I could. Our tech looked into it." He showed her the transcript of the equation Victor found. "Any idea what this means?"

Emma scrutinized it. She'd been many things in her life, but a chemist wasn't one of them. She recognized the symbols, but she didn't understand how they fit together. "No, but we can show it to Julian's assistant. She might know."

"You said he was working on something sensitive."

"If you think I'm going to divulge trade secrets…"

"Sooner or later, we're going to have to trust each other, love."

"I'll take later. Do you want to know what I found or not?"

Killian sighed. "We'll play this your way then." He stood, boldly walking around the desk. "Show me."

Emma could feel the heat radiating off him, but she ignored it. Instead, she fired up the laptop and started to show him what she'd discovered from her remote search. "None of this makes sense. I designed the firewalls myself."

The pained arrogance was endearing rather than off putting. "Even you can make mistakes, Swan."

"Not like this."

"Then perhaps it was an inside job."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Still want in, Jones?"

He grinned at her. "Wouldn't miss it, love."


End file.
